


Paint the Walls Black (And Scream ‘Fuck the World!’)

by GeoffsEightGreatestMistakes



Series: And Never For a Second Blame Yourself. [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Bullying, High School AU, M/M, Mentions of self-harm, Parental Abuse, this fic has like zero happiness till the final few paragraphs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4792733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeoffsEightGreatestMistakes/pseuds/GeoffsEightGreatestMistakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It feels like it wouldn’t ever stop; the taunts and the teases, the pushes and shoves, the punches and kicks. It feels like it wouldn’t ever stop and for him… It was a downward spiral for him and him alone. Anyone else that got involved would do nothing but bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint the Walls Black (And Scream ‘Fuck the World!’)

**Author's Note:**

> I’m suddenly in a shitty mood so I wrote this out of anger/frustration… and this is a pretty heavy fic. I’m sorry… but this happens when I don’t feel good.
> 
>  
> 
> TITLE FROM: Missing You by All Time Low

He doesn’t remember when exactly it started.

He doesn’t remember the first time his parents turned on him; nor does he remember the first time someone had teased him. He doesn’t remember the first shove in elementary school after he had just moved to the country, and he doesn’t remember the first time a ‘friend’ had ditched him.

But he definitely remembers the first time he thought about digging the scissors out of the junk drawer in the kitchen, and he, in turn, remembers the first sting and the first cut; made on his thigh so no one would see it but him. He remembers the recent actions of his parents and how they accuse him for stealing their alcohol. Of course, he did… but it was to numb the pain they had given him.

He doesn’t remember where it all started, but he definitely remembers everything after.

 

 

His locker has a note taped to it again, and Gavin doesn’t bother reading it. He rips it off his locker, crumples it up into a ball, and then shoves it in his pocket. He’ll either throw it away or read it in the middle of the night when he can’t sleep.

Shakily, Gavin opens his locker. Everything is how it should be, and he’s happy about that as he picks up his heavy history textbook, replacing his Chemistry book with his Government book.

And for once, he’s not disturbed as he shuts his locker door and heads down the hall to the History hallway. It’s rare that he’s left alone as he walks the halls between classes… But when it happens, it’s like heaven on earth.

But Gavin doesn’t let his joy show. He keeps his face blank and tilted towards the ground; looking at people’s shoes as he walks across the school.

He makes it to Government class unscathed, and he survives the class. It’s a fairly easy class for him; the teacher lectures all the time and all he has to do is record them on his phone and listen to them later to take notes. It’s an easy system; since it gives him 45 minutes to relax before he faces the nightmare that is lunch.

The bell rings, and it startles him out of his thoughts.

All around him, students are rushing up from their seats to go eat, and he waits until the last person is out the door before he even starts to pack up. He ignores the odd look his teacher gives him as he pushes his binder into his bag and then slings it over his shoulder.

The halls are half empty when he gets to his locker, and there’s another note. It gets the same treatment as before, except he sets it on the top shelf of his locker, where a pile of crumpled balls of paper is slowly growing. The note in his pocket joins that pile, and then he sets his history textbook back inside before he closes the locker.

Now the halls are empty, and it’s just him as he turns and starts to walk; but in the opposite direction of the lunch room.

Ever since 6th grade, he’s avoided the lunch room. 6th grade, he spent the first few weeks trying to deal with the lunch room and he ended up giving up, just camping out in the library. 7th grade, he was split between eating in the bathroom farthest from the lunch room, and not eating at all. 8th was spent in a classroom because one of his teachers pitied him but did nothing else other than let him in during lunch. The past four years of high school have been spent out on the bleachers.

There’s no gym class during his lunch hour, so he eats the lunch he packs himself every morning with whatever is in his fridge.

Today, he’s got a peanut butter sandwich and _only_ peanut butter because they don’t have jelly at home. That’s it; no chips, no cookie, no extra little snack or treat. They had just enough food for a sandwich.

As he climbs the metal bleachers to the top row, Gavin makes a mental note to go to the grocery store on his walk home; he’s got enough money this week to get a little food.

Like every day, he’s alone as he takes his spot in the very center of the top row, where he’s got a full, perfect view of the empty football field and the trees bordering the field and the school. It makes him feel… special. Like he can see everything as he sits up high. Like he can finally have a clear view of the world.

The light breeze doesn’t help him today though; the clouds are covering up the sun and the sky is starting to chill as winter draws nearer and nearer. The only thing Gavin has today that keeps him warm is a paper-thin hoodie that’s years old and dotted with holes, stains, and rips.

And as he nibbles on his sandwich, he keeps scanning the empty football field and bleachers, because he has nothing better to do.

 

 

Hiding away on the bleachers works for a while, and then it doesn’t.

The tormenters that he hates to call his classmates catch him on his way out one of the side doors near the gym. They snatch up his bag and start to dig through it while one of them holds Gavin against a locker.

“What do you have here?” One of the bullies, a popular jock who has a name Gavin never bothered to learn, pulls out a crumpled up brown paper bag. It’s his lunch for today, except there’s nothing inside but a small baggie of slightly stale saltine crackers. It’s not much, but it’s better than going hungry.

“Is this all you have?” The one who is holding him against the locker laughs as his nearly-non-existent lunch is pulled out. “How pathetic! No wonder you’re so fucking skinny!”

The words don’t do damage now, but they certainly will when he gets home in a few hours. So instead of letting them get to him, Gavin stands there and lets them dig through his bag. He gave up trying to stop them long ago.

The belongings of his bag are hunted through, and some dumped onto the floor. His lunch is on the floor, along with a tattered notebook full of frantic, messy words. It’s his journal, and they scan through it and read the parts that have the nicest writing, or are in some color other than black ink.

The sound of ripping paper draws him out of his trance. And _god_ Gavin wishes he has the guts to stand up to the jocks, because they’re ripping papers out of his journal now; laughing their asses off while they do so.

Gavin doesn’t realize his vision is blurring with tears as he whimpers.

“Aw,” the first jock coos. “Little _Gavvy_ is crying.” It comes out sickeningly sweet, and Gavin feels like he’s about to throw up all over their clean, brand-new shoes, and the disgusting tile floor.

But they don’t stop ripping out pages until half of the notebook is on the tile floor, and his messy handwriting and all of his thoughts are sprawled across the floor for all to see.

Tears slip out, and Gavin weakly reaches down for his bag; but the jocks beat him to it and pluck his bag away just within an inch of him grabbing it.

“What are you going to do? Go out on the bleachers and sit there, cry, and write about how _shitty_ your pathetic little life is?” The second jock sneers, and Gavin shakes his head because he can’t say anything.

“Aw, how about go home to mommy and daddy?” The first jock pauses, waiting for Gavin to respond. But he doesn’t give Gavin a chance when he starts to laugh even harder. “Oh wait! They _hate_ you! They hate their little faggot son who can’t do anything but cry and take up space!”

Gavin’s hands shake and he steps back; pushing his back up against the lockers. Before he even starts to fight, he’s given up and lets the jocks root through the rest of his bag.

“Go back to England; nobody likes a waste of space like you.” One of them sneers before going back to his bag.

The remains of his journal are dumped on the ground, and the two jocks don’t even care that they’re stepping on papers as they drop his bag. They’re done with him, and both of them give Gavin a good kick in the shins before they walk down the hall, laughter echoing with them.

Gavin waits until he can’t hear their footsteps or laughter before he leans down to pick up the papers. He puts them in a messy, disorganized stack because he’s too overwhelmed to even _think_ about organizing them. He shoves the remains of his journal, and his lunch into his bag before he heads outside.

He goes back to the bleachers, because he’s got nowhere else to go.

 

On some days, the jocks find him during lunch just as he’s walking out, and on other days he’s left completely alone for the 30 minutes he has for lunch. Today, weeks after the jocks first find him, he doesn’t get peace and quiet. But it’s not by the jocks.

There’s a figure on the bleachers, right where he would normally sit under the box-building where the announcers sit during football games.

Gavin stands at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at that figure.

From all the way down there, he can’t see perfectly; but he sees a pale person with inky black, unbrushed hair and a grey hoodie that looks far too big. And there’s smoke coming from his mouth… a cigarette is between his fingers.

If this person were anybody else, Gavin would walk away and find somewhere else… But he hasn’t seen this person’s face around school. For some unidentifiable reason, Gavin starts to walk up the bleachers.

The person gets clearer the closer he gets, and now Gavin’s standing in front of this stranger. This guy has dark circles under his eyes, ears that don’t fit his face, and has on baggy jeans that have rips all up the legs and completely missing around the knees.

The person opens his eyes, looking up at Gavin. A sleepy smirk crosses his lips as he takes a drag from his half-gone cigarette.

“Do I know you?” The stranger asks, and Gavin shakes his head.

“You’re in my spot,” Gavin’s face is blank, and so is his voice. He’s perfected the art of showing no emotion, and it’s definitely showing.

But the guy doesn’t look at him weirdly; he laughs instead and gestures to the empty bleachers. “There’s a whole lot of space.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but Gavin doesn’t crack his blank expression, or laughs. Instead, he sits down next to the stranger, but he puts two feet of space between them. This is making him uncomfortable, but Gavin has no clue why he’s still sitting here next to this stranger.

“Okay…” The stranger mumbles and takes another drag of his cigarette. A few seconds later, he’s tilting his head back against the wire fence that makes up the back wall of the bleachers to blow smoke up at the sky. Gavin watches it dissipate, and then he looks back at the empty football field.

“What are you doing out here?” The stranger’s question brings Gavin’s attention away from the field and onto him. Their eyes meet, and Gavin shifts uncomfortably.

“Getting away from everything.” Gavin doesn’t know why he’s still sitting here, and he definitely doesn’t know why he’s talking to this guy.

“Ah,” the stranger nods. “I get it— this place totally clears your head. It’s the only calm place in this hell hole.”

Gavin’s blank expression cracks and he looks at the stranger with an odd look.

“School sucks ass… and I’m not even supposed to be at lunch anyway, I’m supposed to be sitting through Chemistry,” the stranger takes another drag, but he doesn’t tilt his head back to blow out the smoke. He blows it out of the corner of his mouth so he can keep eye contact with Gavin and not blow the smoke on him.

Gavin doesn’t say anything for a while, and neither does the stranger. For about ten minutes, they sit in silence as Gavin takes small bites of his turkey sandwich (he splurged earlier this week and got a package of cheap lunch meat… And that meant that he had to give up getting milk).

“Geoff,” the stranger finally speaks, and Gavin looks up from his sandwich.

“My name is Geoff,” the stranger clarifies, and Gavin nods but doesn’t verbally respond. Geoff’s not really pleased.

“You know,” he sleazily smirks. “This is where you give me your name.”

“Gavin,” the Brit whispers. “Gavin… Free.”

“Free,” Geoff raises an eyebrow, taking one of the final drags of his cigarette. He breathes out the smoke a few seconds later, and continues to speak. “Haven’t heard a name like that.”

Gavin looks down at his half-eaten sandwich. He takes another bite and then looks back at the field. He’s always found his name as ironic. He’s supposed to be ‘Free’… but he doesn’t feel ‘Free’; he’s stuck in this town, chained down and expected to still remain alive.

He doesn’t feel ‘Free’, and it hurts.

Geoff leans forward, dropping the last of the cigarette and smushing it against the metal bleachers with the toe of his ratty converse shoes that look years old.

“Not much of a talker, eh?” Geoff whispers, scooting a little closer to Gavin. But the Brit doesn’t scoot away.

“That’s okay,” Geoff murmurs. “My sister’s not much of a talker either… She doesn’t trust a whole lot of people.”

Gavin still doesn’t know, he doesn’t know why he’s listening to this guy talk to him or why he cares; why he cares just a _little_ bit.

“She trusts me, so it’s pretty good.” Geoff’s still talking, but he trails off when he looks at Gavin out of the corner of his eye. “I think you’d like her, when she opens up to you.”

He looks down at his phone, which is resting on his thigh. It’s lit up with a text message; but he doesn’t answer it.

“Mm…” He slides his phone into his pocket as he stands. “This has been real nice-” he pauses to stretch out his back “- but class is just about over, and I should actually make it to my next one.”

Geoff starts to walk down the bleachers, and instead of going down the stairs on either side, he walks straight down the benches, straight down the middle.

He’s on the bottom row when he looks back up at Gavin, who hasn’t budged. With a sleazy smile, he squints up at Gavin.

“Let’s do this again sometime,” and he doesn’t even wait for Gavin’s response when he turns and walks up the sidewalk that leads back inside. Gavin only watches him go because he’s too scared to say anything.

 

 

Lunch continues like that for a while.

Geoff tells Gavin random stories, half of them being all of the stupid shit he’s done in random towns that he’s lived in. Gavin only listens, silently eating his lunch and never saying anything. The two sentences he’s spoken to Geoff, only on that first day, have been all that he’s said.

It doesn’t bother either of them though; and as time passes Gavin gets more and more relaxed. Geoff’s random anecdotes give him something else to think about; he tries to imagine Geoff actually going through them.

He imagines Geoff smoking while sitting in the back of a pickup, waiting for his friends to come back from a beer run. He imagines Geoff crashing a football game as a freshman back in Alabama. He imagines Geoff starting up his own little underground trading system that got him kicked out of his last school; where he’d trade cigarettes for homework answers and he’d trade alcohol at house parties for money that he’d then use to buy more alcohol and cigarettes.

The situations Gavin imagines Geoff in replaces his thoughts about the bullies, everything in school and his disastrous home life. Lunch only lasts for 30 minutes for only five days out of seven; but it’s just enough time to make Gavin feel like he’s in a different life. And sure, there are some days where Geoff’s not there because there’s a test and his teacher refuses to let him leave. But on the days that Geoff’s not there, Gavin still thinks about the random stories.

It helps, and then his parents accuse him of taking his mother’s drugs and snatching up his father’s alcohol. These accusations happen often, but Gavin’s so distracted by Geoff he doesn’t pay attention until his father isn’t just screaming at him, but going through his room, trying to find his liquor.

Instead, he finds razor blades hidden in an empty, old Altoids tin in the back of the drawer in his nightstand. And instead of fighting back, Gavin sits there on the edge of his bed and lets his dad scream at him and tell him what a failure he is, how pathetic he is, how much of a waste of space he is, and how much him and his mother hate him and wished they never had him.

Gavin lets his father let out his anger, and lets him scream and scream until his voice is hoarse and he’s just repeating himself. Gavin lets his father take his blades, because he knows he can snatch some more from the box of razors below the sink that _technically_ belongs to his mother.

When the bedroom door slams shut and his father yells at him that he’s not eating dinner, Gavin starts to move. He pulls on the thickest hoodie he’s got; a dark blue one with sleeves so long they completely cover his hands. He grabs his bag; taking out the school supplies and he puts his phone in, along with some money, a thin blanket he has stashed away in the closet, a phone charger, and a change of clothes.

As silent as he can be, he pushes open the window and climbs out. Luckily, his house is only one story, and even better— his parents won’t miss him because they wished they never had a son.

 

The creaking of the swing is only white noise; mixing in with the sound of the occasional car, and the soft chirping of bugs. Gavin’s sitting in the park a few streets, just barely swinging on a swing on a fairly new playground.

Its peace and quiet and he closes his eyes and swings a little in the darkness. It’s nearing midnight, and it’s a school night. Nobody’s out this late on a school night; except for him. Sometimes, when things get really bad, he sneaks out and sits on the swings until the sun starts to rise and paint the sky pink and orange. But whenever he does that, he always comes home.

Right now, he doesn’t plan on going home.

He takes in a shaky breath, and he closes his eyes for a few seconds. The next time he opens, his eyes are filled with tears and his hands are starting to shake; the grip he has on the chain of the swing loosening.

His shaking, soft sobs soon join the creaking of the swing, and he bows his head. For the first time in a while, he allows himself to cry.

Sure, his parents have found his razors multiple times, but they’ve never done anything on it. They don’t demand he gets help, or take him to a therapist. They just let him continue to live like a zombie; only half alive.

His shoulders shake and his foot nudges his bag, which is by his feet. He sniffles, but can’t stop crying. The tears won’t stop; it’s the build-up of weeks-worth of pain. He hasn’t cried since he met Geoff, and that was nearly a month ago.

And the creaking of another swing makes him look up.

It’s like a miracle— Geoff is sitting on the other swing and Gavin can’t tell of this is real or not. His vision is too blurry with tears for him to completely focus on Geoff.

Geoff parts his lips, but he doesn’t speak. He closes his mouth, then opens; looking like a fish out of water for a minute before he slowly sighs.

“How bad is it?” He whispers, like he understands all of Gavin’s pain and anything painful that has ever happened to him. Gavin only sniffles and tries to muffle a sob. He can’t say anything, and Geoff’s patient with him. But for the first time since they met, Gavin speaks.

“It’s bad,” he whispers, in the same softness as Geoff. But with it so quiet and lonely out there in the darkness, whispering is just fine.

“I don’t even get it,” Gavin shakes his head a little, glancing at Geoff’s dark figure before looking up at the dark indigo sky above him. The swings are under an empty patch of sky; unblocked by trees. But the lights from their town block out some of the stars. Luckily, a fair amount of the stars are still visible.

“They gave birth to me… and they hate me,” Gavin sniffles, and he raises a hand to wipe his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie.

Geoff doesn’t say anything; he takes Gavin’s role now. He’s the silent listener, letting the other speak and get things off his mind. But then Gavin goes quiet for a handful of minutes. The sounds of the bugs chirping and the soft squeaking of their swings takes up the silence.

“They found my razors,” Gavin’s voice is barely audible, but Geoff hears him.

“He took them, and when I get home…” He trails off, unable to finish. But Geoff has an idea of what Gavin means to say. And the silence stretches on again.

“How long has this been going on?” Geoff questions, and he looks down from the sky, and to Gavin. The other teen is barely visible in the dark, wearing a dark blue hoodie and dark jeans, but Geoff’s eyes have been used to the darkness for a while, and he can still see an outline Gavin’s face and all of his features.

“As long as I can remember,” Gavin’s lips barely move, and Geoff sighs softly.

“Stay with me,” he offers without thinking about it, and Gavin scoffs softly. This change in the Brit’s attitude is different from how it’s been for the past month. And Geoff’s not entirely sure if it’s a good change or not.

“No thanks,” Gavin shakes his head. “If they find out where I was… I’ll only get another accusation.”

Geoff doesn’t understand, but he turns on his swing; digging his feet into the mulch below the swings and turning to face Gavin fully. “It’s safe. My mom works late… and the only one home is my sister.”

Gavin has heard a fair amount of stories about Geoff’s sister, Griffon. He’s heard that she wants to get involved in the arts, and she wants to learn how to carve wood with _chainsaws_ , out of all things, but can’t due to their money problems. He’s been told that she’s very funny and sometimes slips into a motherly attitude whenever she worries about her brother.

She sounds like the child Gavin’s parents would adore, and he hopes that she never meets his parents.

“We’ll take care of you,” Geoff sounds kind, and if it were brighter outside Gavin would see how Geoff’s face grows soft and his eyes fill with worry and concern. But in the darkness of the park, he can only see Geoff’s pale skin and dark circles that belong to his eyes.

“Please…” It sounds like a plead now, and Gavin sniffles again and he looks over at Geoff’s shadowy figure once more.

“I can’t.” Gavin shakes his head. “I can’t… I’ll come home and I’ll be even more trouble.”

Geoff pauses, thinking for a few seconds as he nibbles on his bottom lip. “At the very least, you can stay the night.”

It was nearing two in the morning now, and Gavin was exhausted, but he didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to spend another night in the house, and even though he packed a bag with what he thought he would need, he’s too scared to run off. He’s terrified that his parents will find him, drag him home, and put him in an even worse condition.

That fear lingers in his head, but for now, he slowly nods.

“Okay.”

He agrees; because he just wants to escape the pain.

 

They sit on the swings for a few more minutes, and then Geoff is leading Gavin back home. Geoff’s home is in the opposite direction of Gavin’s home. Instead of the distance Gavin is putting between him and his parents making Gavin uncomfortable, it relaxes him with each house they pass.

The relaxed feeling that’s washing over Gavin only grows when he steps into Geoff’s home. And despite how ratty Geoff looks, his home is nicely decorated, and he leads Gavin through his dark house, up the stairs, down the hall, and to his bedroom.

Geoff turns on his bedside lamp, and while Gavin can now look around the room, he doesn’t. He doesn’t look around at Geoff’s messy yet slightly organized room, or the posters covering his boring white walls. Instead of looking around at practically everything Geoff owns, he lets Geoff move him to the bed.

Geoff’s about to leave the room to sleep on the couch, but Gavin whimpers softly, and Geoff pauses in the doorway.

“Please…” Gavin whispers.

When he’s around Geoff, he says stuff and does things he doesn’t understand. Like he still doesn’t understand why he sat next to Geoff on those bleachers all those weeks ago, and why he stayed. And it will take him months with Geoff to understand why he asks Geoff to stay with him that night; stay with him in that bed.

All that Gavin understands now is that he doesn’t want to be alone, and he isn’t.

He asks for Geoff to stay, because that’s all he feels like he understands right now.

 

 

Gavin wakes to the smell of breakfast. Sleepily, he opens his eyes and looks at the alarm clock. It’s almost 10; and it’s a Friday. He should be at school, but for once, he doesn’t care. It won’t hurt to take one day off. The thought of his parents finding out and punishing him doesn’t even cross his mind; and it’s the first time in a while that he doesn’t worry about being punished.

Slowly, he sits up, and he doesn’t realize that he took his hoodie off when he got to Geoff’s last night. He doesn’t realize until he’s downstairs, sitting at Geoff’s kitchen table, while Geoff’s sister cooks him bacon and eggs; the best breakfast he’s had in years.

He doesn’t realize until Griffon turns to set a plate on the table, and she catches sight of Gavin’s arms, which are a patchwork of scars, scabs, and cuts. She doesn’t freak out like Gavin would expect her to. Instead, she lets out a soft breath and turns back towards the stove.

“Geoff told me about why you’re here,” she speaks softly, and Gavin almost doesn’t hear her as he starts to slowly eat the food-covered plate. “And I want you to know that you’re welcome here anytime.”

Gavin looks up at Griffon with a look that’s a mix of surprise and worry. “Why?”

“Gavin,” Griffon sighs. “Geoff has told me a lot about you… that you don’t talk to him, or to anybody… and you let yourself get hurt… and now this…” She trails off, and she turns to face Gavin.

“Geoff really cares about you.” She licks her lips. “He cares about you a lot, and I want you to know that he can’t stand to see you in this much pain… He wants you to stay here, with us, where you’re safe.”

“But…” Gavin starts, and then he looks even more confused.  “What about my parents?”

“It’s time someone called the police on them.”

 

 

In the end, that’s what happens.

After staying with Geoff’s for the rest of the weekend, and he sees how a normal family interacts, he agrees to call his parents.

He sees Geoff and Griffon interact, and when Geoff’s mother comes home, he sees her face soften when Geoff explains, and then she pulls Gavin into a crushing hug; the softest touch he’s felt in years. He’s treated to a nice bed with clean, unstained sheets, and it’s shared with Geoff, and he’s treated to a well-stocked kitchen and home cooked meals. He sees a fridge that’s not filled with alcohol, a coffee table in the living room that’s not covered with plastic baggies and used needles, rooms piled high with trash and other filth they’re all too lazy or unmotivated to clean, and he sees a bathroom that’s clean.

And that happens; Gavin gains the courage, and with help from Geoff, he calls the police. The court date hasn’t been set, but he stays with Geoff, since Gavin’s of legal age.

With Geoff by his side and Geoff’s hand in his, Gavin enters school with the slightest hint of confidence; and even though it’s not a lot of confidence, it’s better than nothing. _(As Griffon says, it’s baby steps.)_ The bullies don’t bother him when they see him with Geoff, and it’s the first time in years where Gavin’s able to make it through the entire day without being teased or bullied. And the entire time, Geoff’s by his side.

And it gets better. That day, as they sit out on the bleachers, he talks to Geoff at lunch.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> so this is what happens when your brain randomly puts you in a shitty mood, and you get in the writing mojo to write for almost two straight hours… and I’m actually surprised because I wrote all of this in about two hours, like in one sitting.
> 
> And hopefully the ending isn’t too rushed! But I didn’t want to have to stop, sleep, go to school, then come home and finish the ending and the writing not sound the same. 
> 
> And maybe if I’m in a better mood I’ll post a sequel.


End file.
